


Nor The Breathing

by George_the_Pumpkin, Run Im A Natural Disaster (Darkness34)



Series: Run! and George Do Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Emergency! (TV 1972)
Genre: Boating gone wrong, Concerned Roy, Day 13: Breathe In Breathe Out, Delayed Drowning, Doctors & Physicians, Gen, Hospitals, Ignoring an Injury, Johnny Whump, Just bros being bros, Kinda suffication, Medical Inaccuracies, Team as Family, Whumptober 2020, Worry, belated but who cares time is meaningless anyway, we are all victims of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_the_Pumpkin/pseuds/George_the_Pumpkin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkness34/pseuds/Run%20Im%20A%20Natural%20Disaster
Summary: Water or heights. Johnny and Roy debate what the worst kind of rescue is and of course, something drastic happens to convert the other to his line of thinking.-It started with a cough.Actually, that wasn’t quite right.It started with a run.A water rescue, to be exact.The worst kind in Johnny’s opinion.Though, if you were to ask Roy he would say anything that involved heights but Johnny was adamant that no, water runs are way worse, Roy! Remember that time I got sea-sick? That was awful! Not to mention how terrible it is to wear wet socks! And shoes! You squelch for the rest of the shift. Stop laughing! It’s not funny, Roy!
Series: Run! and George Do Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950496
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	Nor The Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> We know nothing about medicine, R.I.P. We apologize beforehand for our complete and total lack of knowledge; any medical inaccuracies are entirely our fault.

It started with a cough. 

Actually, that wasn’t quite right. 

It started with a run. 

A water rescue, to be exact. 

The worst kind in Johnny’s opinion. 

Though, if you were to ask Roy he would say anything that involved heights but Johnny was adamant that  _ no, water runs are way worse, Roy! Remember that time I got sea-sick? That was awful! Not to mention how terrible it is to wear wet socks! And shoes! You squelch for the rest of the shift. Stop laughing! It’s not funny, Roy! _

They had met the coast guard at the Del Rey Marina.

Roy and Johnny had barely had time to introduce themselves before the crew was shuffling them into a small motorboat

“What do we got?” Johnny yelled to be heard over the wind and the crashing of the waves.

“Some teenagers decided to try their hand at sailing,” one of the coast guards said and then added, “I don’t think any of them are becoming sailors anytime soon. From the transmission we got, they steered right into a rock, which tore a gaping hole in the hull.”

Johnny and Roy shared a sardonic glance. There was no way they wouldn’t get sopping wet today.

Johnny glanced at his watch.

15 minutes had passed, the teenagers had gotten pretty far.

Squinting his eyes, Johnny raised a hand to shield his eyes from the spray the motor was kicking up. He quickly scanned the horizon. The ocean was a churning gray; seafoam sparkling green and blue and white in the few crepuscular rays that pierced through the clouds. But he didn’t see a boat. He squinted more. As far as he could see the ocean was an unbroken stretch of stormy gray. Only a small smudge of canary yellow interrupting the monochromaticity. Johnny repressed a sigh. Were they even going the right way? He didn’t see anything that interrupted the whole gray, smoke on the water image the ocean had….

Wait, he backtracked mentally. Yellow?

Looking back out over the water, he tried to spot that lone spot of yellow again. He nearly shouted in excitement when he spotted it again. It was far away, he could barely make it out, but it looked like there were three people in the water, a little ways away from a sinking yellow boat. 

Johnny pointed at them, “There! Head over to those people first.”

Maneuvering the boat alongside them, the paramedics helped two girls and a boy into the boat. 

Both did visual checks while wrapping shock blankets around each one. Roy asked, “Are you all alright?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine,” one of the girls said. “But Jack and Eddie are still on there! The two idiots said they were going down with their ship.”

As if on cue, the two boys appeared in their line of sight. They were holding on to the railing to avoid sliding off into the water or the rock.

“You’re gonna have to convince them to come with you. They were pretty adamant about it,” the boy said. 

A loud crack went through the air. Everyone’s heads shot up, the main mast was splintering. With one final crack, it fell crashing into the back of one of the boys on deck sending him flying into the water. The other tried to grab him but ended up being pulled overboard. He flipped a couple of times, smacking flailing limbs into the boat. 

Turning to the coast guard, Johnny said “Better stay here. We don’t want to accidentally run over them.”

With a nod to Roy, they dove off the boat.

The water was biting cold, jabbing painful pins and needles along Johnny’s exposed skin, he gasped inadvertently. 

He choked as water filled his mouth.

Flailing, he oriented himself and began to swim upwards. Whenever Johnny went swimming he always imagined that that first moment in the water, before your body hits equilibrium and gets buoyed up, would be what floating would feel like. But immediately afterward comes the weight. As water permeated your clothes, dragging you down. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, Johnny thought, about how quickly flying becomes falling. How easy it is to slide from one to the other. Like Icarus and the sun. Like Sampson and Delilah. Like love and devotion leading to nothing but heartache and pain.

He’d always heard that pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. But what all those scholars didn’t realize was that it was really just love - love goeth before destruction.

And Johnny  _ loved  _ his job.

Coming up with a gasp, choking, and spitting up the water he had inhaled, John saw Roy heading toward the area the teen struck by the mast had been sent. A rapidly disappearing ripple the only evidence of where he landed. 

He spun to face the ship.

The other boy was most likely unconscious, it looked like he hit his head in one of the somersaults. And being so near the boat it was likely that he had gotten caught on some of the wreckage. None of those things boded well for his chances of being able to save himself.

He swam quickly to where they had last seen him and dove down. The saltwater stung his eyes before they became used to it. Coming to a broken section in the hold, he saw the boy, his shirt skewered by a board. Preventing him from sinking deeper into the ocean. 

Grabbing the fabric he ineffectually pulled at it, the water making it impossible to tear.

Out of air, he swam back up to the surface. 

While gulping in air he fumbled his scissors out of his kit. Gripping it tightly he dove back down.

He knew he needed to work quickly if there was to be any chance of the kid surviving. It only took four minutes to eight minutes for permanent brain damage to occur. It had probably already been five. 

Grabbing the shirt again he cut the hem up to the hole the board had made. The scissors were much more effective but it seemed to Johnny to take an eon.

Without the board holding him up, the boy had started to sink down. Snatching an arm, Johnny pulled the boy level with him before more securely wrapping an arm around his chest. 

He had dropped his scissors in his haste. At least they were only scissors, easily replaceable.

The swim back up was ten times harder. 

His burning lungs protested the extra weight. Looking at the boy, he was glad he was lanky instead of built like a football player. The only thing worse than hauling a guy out of the water was hauling a big guy.

Just before the surface, his lungs instincts overpowered his willpower. He inhaled a surge of water. His previously burning lungs were now disintegrating. The urge to stop and cough was nearly unbearable. Pushing himself, he swam the last few inches needed to reach precious air. 

Sunlight reflected off the ocean, blinding him. Letting the urge to cough overtake him, he coughed up and spat out water for what seemed an age compared to the small amount of water he thought he had taken in.

His coughing fit had made his whole body ache and he wished for nothing more than a nap.

Making sure his arm was still secure around the teen, he swam up to Roy who had been making his way towards them. 

Grabbing a hold of the boy’s other arm he helped them both back to the boat.

The little coast guard boat was going to be crowded with five passengers, the coast guard team, and two stokes. 

A stokes was sent into the water with them. The two of them working in tandem getting the teen strapped in. 

“Take him up!” Roy yelled.

Two coast guards pulled it up while a third grabbed it, helping lift it over the rail.

Roy climbed aboard first, then extended a hand down to Johnny. 

Forcing his sore limbs to lift himself up, John went to his patient who was laid on one of the side benches.

Grabbing his wrist, he checked for a pulse. Shifting his hand multiple times.

Nothing.

Moving his hand he placed it on the thin chest. 

Nothing.

Crap.

He gestured to one of the coast guards. “Hand me that oxygen! And get him on a backboard!”

Quickly, he placed the mask over the teen's mouth. Forcing air into his oxygen-starved lungs. 

Gesturing to another coast guard to take his place. He grabbed the defibrillator and the EKG machine. Placing the pads and connecting them, a steady drone filled the air.

As soon as the teen was on the backboard, he started chest compressions.

He heard Roy’s voice above him, “Here, Johnny.” He handed him the paddles.

Then turned and charged the defibrillator.

“1...2...3..4”

“Clear.”

The body lifted up off the backboard.

Both looked over at the heart monitor. 

Still a flat line.

Johnny shook his head. “No conversion. Hit him again.” 

“1...2...3..4”

“Clear.”

For the second time, the body lifted off the backboard.

The steady beat of sinus rhythm replaced the shrill drone.

Johnny wiped water off that dripped off his hair onto his forehead. Shoulders slumping after the adrenaline surge.

“Here, Johnny,” Roy passed Johnny the BP cuff and stethoscope. “I’ve got Rampart on the line.”

John went through the motions, pulse, BP, respirations, pupil reaction. 

Johnny gave the vitals to Roy and continued, “He has a probable concussion and a possible sprained wrist. There’s also a long laceration on his back. I’ve bandaged and cleaned it.”

Roy relayed this Rampart.

“Rampart says to start an IV D5W and to splint the wrist.”

John waved a hand to acknowledge his partner's words. Already grabbing a splint and a bag of D5W. 

Smoothly inserting the IV and setting the drip.

Roy took the bag from him and hung it off the hook on the oxygen tank. 

Gently, he then splinted the wrist.

“How’s your patient?” John asked.

“Going to be fine. He wasn’t under as long as yours was. The hardest thing I had to do was AR. That mast broke some ribs though. He’s lucky they didn’t puncture anything.”

Johnny nodded. He’d broken his ribs enough times to write a book about it.

“Let’s get back to dry land and out of these wet clothes, pally. I don’t know about you but I’m  _ freezing _ .”

* * * *

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite paramedics.” Dixie teased. “How are you two?”

“Fine, fine,” Johnny said.

“Uh-huh,” Roy said skeptically, moving to stand alongside Johnny. “You coughed up a lung for no reason, then?”

John looked disgruntled. “So I swallowed some water. No big deal.”

“What’s this?” A new voice joined the conversation. 

“He swallowed some water during our last rescue,” Roy  _ helpfully _ added.

John glared at him. “And I am telling you I am  _ fine.” _

“I’ll be the judge of that, hose jockey.” Brackett grabbed his shoulder pushing him towards the treatment rooms.

“I’ll go set up in three.” Dixie walked ahead of the entourage. 

John tried to wrench his shoulder out of Brackett's grip. “Now wait just a minute! I’m fine,” he laid a hand on his chest.

Roy grabbed his other arm, “Let’s go, Junior.”

He got a glare for his trouble.

Dixie patted the exam table. “Up.”

Mutinously, he grudgingly jumped up, arms crossing petulantly, a pout twisting his lips.

“Take your shirt off.” Johnny slowly unfolded his arms and began to unbutton his uniform. He would rather stay in his wet clothes than sit half-naked surrounded by people. “And you better move it mister before I get scissor happy.”

His uniform and T-shirt were hastily removed and placed next to him on the table.

Brackett’s stethoscope was still freezing on his chilled chest.

“Your lungs sound clear, but let’s get some x-rays to make sure.”

X-rays meant staying here for another thirty minutes at least, in wet clothes.

“Doc, I really don’t think it’s necessary. I coughed up all the water I swallowed. I just want to get back to the station and get out of these wet clothes.”

Brackett didn’t look convinced.

“And Roy will watch me. I’m sure if I so much as sneeze wrong, he’ll haul me back here.”

Roy didn’t like it but he did admit to himself he was going to do that anyway. So he inclined his head at Brackett.

Brackett’s lip twitched. Mentally, he weighed the pros and cons. The thoughts swirling around in his mind as clear as if they’d been printed on paper. It definitely wasn’t ideal but Johnny’s lungs  _ had  _ sounded clear and he was certain that Roy would drag him back by his ear if he felt he had to. 

He sighed, “Fine. But the first sign of trouble and you drag him back here.”

“Don’t worry Doc. I’ll drag myself in here if I need to.”

Everyone present rolled their eyes. Johnny was infamous for his avoidance of hospitals and hospitalization in general. He could be bleeding to death and still say he was just fine.

As evidenced by the way John threw his shirts back on the second Brackett agreed. 

“Let’s get back to the station, pally. Maybe, we can scrounge up some dinner before lights out.” 

* * * * 

Cap was standing in the doorway of his office when they backed in.

“Hard run?”

John wandered off in the directions of the dorms. 

Roy glanced at John’s retreating back. “Not exactly….” he faced Cap. “John just swallowed some water rescuing a teenager playing sailor.”

Cap raised an eyebrow.

“I made him get checked out at Rampart. He should be fine.”

“Ok, pal,” Hank said. “Keep an eye on him.”

Roy gave a little salute as he moved to follow his partner into the dorms.

He found him laid out on his bed, left arm thrown over his eyes as usual. He had stripped out of his wet uniform, his bunker pants laid out next to his bunk. 

Lifting the covers from where they had been flung, he tucked his partner in. One thing his partner did not need was pneumonia.

Deciding he didn’t want to completely change his clothes only to have to immediately change again for bed, he walked into the day room. 

The guys were crowded around the TV, watching Rocky. Mike must’ve chosen the movie for tonight.

He announced to the room at large, “Me and John are going to turn in early.” 

Chet looked up from the TV. “Is it past Gage’s bedtime?” he crooned in a baby voice.

Cap nodded and shot a quelling look at Chet. “I think we could all use a nice long rest, don’t you Kelly?”

The lineman looked to be regretting his earlier comment. “Uhh... yeah, Cap.”

“Excellent,” he stood up and clapped his hands. “Lights out in ten gentlemen.” Then left for his office.

Roy left in search of dry clothes. 

His own wet clothes were quickly becoming uncomfortable, chafing the sensitive skin of his legs and arms when he moved and he didn’t think he could stand wet shoes for another minute. He made quick work of stripping and changing into his nice, warm pajamas.

A sigh of relief left him. He might just be swayed to Johnny’s side on what the worst kind of rescue was. 

The dorm was filled with the sounds of rusting of covers, the thumping of boots, and the creaking of beds.

Tension he hadn’t realized he had carried leaked out of his body. He seemed to sink into the mattress. He hoped they didn’t get a call because it would take him a while to get up.

Slowly, the sounds were replaced by the slow, even breathing of six men.

* * * *

There were no windows in the dorm, and it was too dark to see the face of his watch but Johnny thought that it had to be past midnight.

He couldn’t imagine what had woken him up. The tones had been mercifully silent. Chet wasn’t snoring for once. And he was so exhausted, he didn’t think Chet’s snores could have woken him up.

He rubbed his chest, took a deep breath, and rolled over, intent on going back to sleep. 

Or at least he tried to.

He couldn’t take a deep breath. And focusing on his breathing he realized it was shallow and labored. Like he had just run the 400-meter dash.

The paramedic in him listed his symptoms. Chest pain, labored breathing, persistent cough, and fatigue. 

All symptoms of delayed drowning. 

He needed help.

“Roy,” a small hiss of air escaped him. “Roy!”

Add difficulty talking to that symptom list.

This wasn’t working! He could barely whisper.

His arms shook alarmingly as he sat up. Placing his feet on the ground he tested his legs and found them to be as unstable as his arms. He slid down the side of his bed, flopping onto the floor.

He was even more exhausted from just that.

Dragging himself, he slid slowly across the floor to Roy’s bunk. He had the sudden thought that he must look like a very odd snake.

His breathing had gotten worse in the effort it had taken to get here.

He looked up at the lump on the bed, guessing where Roy’s arm was, and flopped his arm on him.

It turned out he had misjudged just how tall the blob was and smacked Roy in the face.

“Ahh!” Roy shot up in bed. “Johnny, what are you doing on the floor!?”

He couldn’t answer, only stare wide-eyed up at him.

Concern replaced irritation, Roy knelt down next to him.

“What’s wrong?”

Hearing the commotion, the rest of his crewmates were awake and crowding around.

Marco took one look at Johnny and said, “I’ll go get the equipment.”

Mike went with him and Cap went to go call in the still alarm. 

They came back quickly with the biophone, drug box, and oxygen.

“Do you need anything else, Roy?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know yet. Will one of you get on the line with Rampart?”

Chet stepped forward, setting up the biophone and updating Rampart to the situation. Brackett sounded unsurprised to hear that Johnny was experiencing complications. That boy had worse luck than Job. 

“Here you go, Roy.” Chet handed him the receiver.

“Rampart, the victim is pale and fatigued. He also complains of chest pain. The pupil response is normal, respirations are fast, shallow, and labored, pulse is 120, and BP 130/95.”

“51, it sounds like delayed drowning,” the voice of Dr. Brackett said. “Start him on 10 liters of oxygen, an IV normal saline TKO, and transport immediately. Give me a vitals updates every 5 minutes or if there’s any change.”

Mike had already put the oxygen mask over Johnny. Roy just had to start that IV.

A siren cut through the silence of the night.

“It looks like your chariot has arrived, Junior.”

Johnny grinned weakly as the ambulance crew flooded into the room headed by Captain Stanley. 

“Help me lift him up.” He gripped his shoulders. “Got his legs?” 

Hal, the ambulance attendant nodded. 

“On three. One.. two.. three.”

He was placed on the gurney, quickly covered with a blanket, and strapped in.

A person-shaped hole was left in the debris on the dorm room floor. 

The ambulance attendants awkwardly bent over and pulled the gurney to the ambulance parked in front of the station. Roy climbed in with him, hanging the IV.

The boxes were slid in and Cap closed the doors and gave the customary two smacks.

They took off lights flashing, sirens blaring.

* * * *

He squinted against the brightness of the exam light. There were way too many people poking him right now.

He could hear Dixie and Brackett. They were probably talking to him but he couldn’t will himself to decipher their words. 

His eyes were so heavy. Maybe, he would just sleep.

* * * *

The next time he woke, it was in a private room.

Scrunching his face up, he discovered a nasal cannula.

Sunlight was filtering in between the blinds, illuminating the dust particles floating around in the air.

Johnny looked away from his inspection of the room as the door creaked open. Roy peeked his head in.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Roy walked up to the bed, taking in all the information on the monitors.

“Fine,” Johnny cleared his throat. “Fine.” 

“Well, it sounds like they’ll be releasing you either today or tomorrow.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Roy looked down. There was an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry for smacking you in the face.”

Roy just nodded. He looked up again and his eyes were guilty. “I’m really sorry, Johnny… I should have noticed that you were-”

“Woah,woah, woah,” John held up his hands. “Roy, none of this was your fault. In case you forgot I’m a paramedic too. I should have noticed something was wrong.”

“You can’t expect me to accept that. You can’t diagnose yourself.”

“And why not?” John demanded.

Roy didn’t lose his calm demeanor. “Because you were a patient this time, not a paramedic. You miss stuff.”

Johnny didn’t know what to say. It was true that their patients missed things. He saw it happen all the time. But he was a paramedic, he should know what to look for.

“I don’t blame you, Roy… so don’t blame yourself,” Johnny said imploringly. “Otherwise I might think you’re the one who’s a nut.” 

“I might be a nut, but there is something I do know,” Roy said, laughing. The guilt was gone.

John looked wary. “What?” 

“Water rescues are the worst!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment or a kudo!


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